


Take Me To The Lakes (Where All The Poets Went To Die)

by FictionPenned



Category: The Haunting of Bly Manor (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Horror, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-11 10:47:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28470018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FictionPenned/pseuds/FictionPenned
Summary: Anticipation often weighs on a person's spirit just as much as grief or fear, and can be deadly in excess. She almost folded beneath it while preparing for her wedding, and even when anticipating little things, she is reminded of her endless anticipation of closure that she never received.She shakes the thought loose with a great huff of air and a full-body shiver. It's too dark an idea to indulge at this hour, especially while sober.Written for Holiday Horror Exchange 2020.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 6
Collections: Holiday Horror 2020





	Take Me To The Lakes (Where All The Poets Went To Die)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LittleRaven](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleRaven/gifts).



Days at Bly are long, but the nights are even longer. 

There is a certain chill that permeates the air of the estate regardless of the season. It fills the nostrils. It floods the lungs. It drowns the mind. Indeed, it is easy to believe that in the absence of the warmth that radiates from both the children and the other members of the staff, Dani might very well have begun to feel her nerves wear thin beneath it. If left alone in such a place, she might very well have been reduced to wandering the halls in a white nightgown like a haunted, hollow relic from another time. There are, perhaps, worse fates that could befall young women who are dogged by the ghosts of their fiancés -- forever caught in a moment of loss and guilt and blinding headlights -- but Dani tries not to dwell upon worst possible futures. 

She's seen enough death in her young life, she's suffered enough decay, she's discovered enough premature grey hairs scattered amidst the blonde. 

It is the least that she can do to at least try to be happy, even if she isn't always successful in her endeavors. 

Her job at Bly is a part of that. She's trying to outrun her pain, to be sure, but she's also trying to find herself again. She wants to get her legs back underneath her, to figure out what she wants from life and plot a path to begin chasing after it, no matter what those desires might be. 

There is a grand tradition of young American ex-pats. Dani is merely one among hundreds, and despite the sometimes stifling atmosphere of the manor, she is exceedingly glad to have been able to extend her stay abroad by securing a job and a place to stay, and beyond that, she is grateful for the kind company that lurks within this walls. 

Of course, she wishes that at least one other adult was present during those long nights, just to help take the edge off, but Jamie and Owen live in town, and Hannah is in the habit of disappearing when the hour gets too late and reappearing again when the morning seeps through the curtains again. Dani isn't entirely sure where in the house Hannah's room even is. She didn't think to ask. It felt invasive. 

On one night -- cold and chilling and lonely -- Dani stares up at the ceiling in her bedroom, chewing on her bottom lip as she weighs the pros and cons of sneaking down the hall to bathe. She could do with a good wash, but Miles and Flora have been quite adamant in their insistence that everyone remain in their rooms at night, and even worse, they have an unerring knack for sending when Dani has left her room and subsequently ambushing her with some concern or another. Their ability to sense her movements is eerie, especially since she has been making a marked effort to move as quietly as possible throughout the house, making little more noise than the ghosts that she's heard so much about but hasn't seen. 

She turns on her side to glance at the moonlit face of her alarm clock. Almost midnight. Surely the children must be dead to the world by now. Dani would be, too, if she wasn't so damn antsy.

With no small amount of stealth, Dani eases herself off of the mattress, holding her breath in anticipation of the blood-curling shriek of old box springs. 

Thankfully, however, it never comes. 

Breathing out a sigh of relief, Dani pads around the room with bare feet, avoiding the creakier floorboards and grabbing an extra towel to toss over the bathroom mirror. Early in her European sojourn, Dani would've forgotten something that she needed and would've had to double back again, but she likes to think that she's settled into a functional routine by now. Despite its many oddities, life at Bly has saved her, in a way. 

Once Dani has succeeded in wrangling all of her bath items into a small pile on her bed, she gathers it all up into her arms and crosses to the door, opening it with her elbow and a small drop of her shoulder. 

Dani looks both ways before leaving the room, as if she is about to cross a busy street. 

She doesn't see any ghosts, and -- more importantly -- she doesn't see any children. 

With a nod of approval, she continues on her way. 

She finds herself drifting towards the middle of the corridor as she walks, using the rugs to deaden the sounds of her footsteps. Aside from the idle hum of the radiators staving off the winter cold that roars outside, the house is silent. 

The silence passes uninterrupted until Dani closes the bathroom door behind her with a small click and begins to run the tap. 

She sits on the closed lid of the toilet as she waits got the tub to fill, shaking one of her legs and gnawing at fingernails that have already been bitten down to almost nothing. 

Dani doesn't much like waiting. 

Anticipation often weighs on a person's spirit just as much as grief or fear, and can be deadly in excess. She almost folded beneath it while preparing for her wedding, and even when anticipating little things, she is reminded of her endless anticipation of closure that she never received. 

She shakes the thought loose with a great huff of air and a full-body shiver. It's too dark an idea to indulge at this hour, especially while sober. 

Once the bath is finally full, Dani sheds her clothes and sinks beneath the surface of the water. 

Already, she feels better. There are few things in this world nicer than a hot bath in which to drown your own misgivings. 

Dani leans her head back, and barely aware of her own exhaustion, she slips into a light doze. 

After a nebulous and uncertain amount of times the sound of movement in the hallway wakes her with a start. She flings her arms out to either side in alarm, gripping the porcelain sides with tense fingers and white knuckles, and splashing water onto the floor. 

Outside, the sound continues -- footsteps and the slide of heavy, sodden fabric, as steady as a funeral march. 

Without any real logic or reason for it, Dani finds her heart caught somewhere in the vicinity of her throat. 

"Miles?" Dani says hesitantly, her voice echoing in the tiled whiteness of the bathroom. "Flora?" 

There is no answer, only the continued trudge of movement. 

Dani clears her throat and tries again. "Hannah?" 

Again, there is no answer. 

The movement neither stops nor slows. 

Indeed, it seems to pay her calls no mind at all. 

Dani scrambles to her feet and exits the tub, bare feet slipping on the wet floor. She throws a towel around her nude body and casts about for a suitable weapon, just in case Peter Quint has somehow found his way into the manor. 

There is not much available to her, but she wraps her shaking hand around a razor and throws the door open, storming into the hallway with her heart racing and blood pounding in her ears. 

Several hurried steps carry her to the main landing, and she hears the winter wind howling through the front doors, which have been thrown wide open. 

A second set of wet footprints marks a path beside her own, walking up the stairs, towards the abandoned wing, and descending down the stairs again. 

This is not the first time she has seen these footprints, but Dani fully intends to make damn sure that it's the last, and after checking to make sure that the children are still asleep in their beds, she places a call to the local police. 

Again. 

And, later, as she watches the remnants of her bathwater spiral down the drain, she resolves to no longer bathe at night. 

Flora's right, in her peculiar way. 

It's probably safer for everyone to stay in their rooms until morning. 


End file.
